Bitter Pills
by eleni459
Summary: Pre 1970 PT: Angelique Collins can't get her way and those who stand in her way will pay. ChrisxCyrus, CyrusxSabrina.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Bitter Pills

Part: 1 of 3

Genre: Drama, Slash (m/m)

Characters: Angélique Collins, Chris Collins, Cyrus Longworth, Julia Hoffman, and Elizabeth Stoddard

**1968 PT.**

**Collinwood - the foyer, study, and drawing room**

Angélique smoothed back a blonde lock, her fingers nimbly arranging her simple yet elegant coiffure into a work of steely perfection. She gave a cursory inspection to her outfit -- a powder blue sun-dress with matching sandals and simple silver ankle bracelet -- and deemed it suitable. She knew that she needed to give off the appearance of being capable yet needy. This would be no easy feat with this person, as he knew her too well to believe her to be needy. She realized that she would have to take a different approach. Of course, she knew the men of Collinwood and their weaknesses as well as she knew her own. _If this doesn't succeed_, she thought, _I've not done my homework_.

As she pattered down the stairs, Angélique attempted to arrange a centralized plan. Did she really think that she could seduce him? She had seen the pretty young things he had dated in the past and she believed that she knew his type well. Did she resemble his type? In coloring and size only. Angélique knew herself to be much stronger than those sniveling little twits. If anything, she liked to think of what she would be doing as an exchange of favors. She needed money and he, more than likely, needed the touch of a woman after being subjected to a flurry of pathetic girls.

So with renewed conviction, Angélique approached the closed study door, only to be stopped by the waiting Elizabeth Stoddard. "Is Mr. Collins busy?" she asked, putting up her best warm front so as not to snap the woman in two.

"I could check for you"

Angélique offered her a curt nod. She stood back, watching as Mrs. Stoddard calmly approached the study door and rapped daintily on the dark wood. _If it weren't for one simple mistake, I might have been in her place_, she pondered with more than a bit of fear. Her thoughts, of course, weren't completely accurate. Quentin's side of the family had its own sizable fortune and an estate far away from the prying eyes of small town Maine. She could have been mildly content at that station, but she eagerly pushed her soon-to-be-husband to accept Jamison's declaration. "He has given you all of Collinwood instead of one of his own children," she had told Quentin, "so you should not let the old man down." To her delight, he accepted and they have lived the entirety of their marriage at Collinwood. Although the title "Mistress of Collinwood" might have held more power during a previous era, it still held enough clout to be useful. Angélique knew that she had made many mistakes in her life; none of them, to her credit, truly endangered her rise in stature. Elizabeth Stoddard was not as lucky. _One mistake_, she mused, _and you lose it all_.

When Elizabeth Stoddard returned, she said that Angélique could enter. She gave the woman her warmest, if fakest, thanks and entered the study. Behind the cluttered desk sat Chris Collins, who began his role as family lawyer after the death of Arden Hanley, the old lawyer. He was at least a year older than her husband, and, on occasion, it showed. Chris Collins possessed a cool, even temper and could easily get the family out of all the troubles his cousin's passion led it into. All except one. So when he greeted Angélique with a warm, "What do I owe this pleasure to, Mrs. Collins," she knew he was lying.

"I'd like to ask a favor of you," she said plainly.

"Can I guess what this is about?" he asked as a small grin fought to spread its way across his lips.

"I'd rather you didn't, Chris." Angélique drew a chair up to the desk, quietly making sure that the chair's angle did not hinder him from possibly staring at her full body before sitting down. "I realize that the company has been going through some hard times financially, but I don't see any reason for our spending to be reigned in."

"Well, it's not because we're poor. The people who work for the family, however, are going through horrible times, so it's not in our best interests to overspend," explained Chris. "I'm sure this will all clear up once the Devlin deal goes through."

"I was under the impression that Quentin and Mr. Devlin got along fine."

"They do, but their relationship isn't the problem. The numbers aren't working for Burke. Once the shareholders work their magic on him, Burke Devlin will be eating out of the palms of our hands."

Angélique wasn't impressed with his answer. What did that have to do with her? She soon forgot her initial plans and began to ask more questions. "But why must I do without?"

"Mrs. Collins, have you ever heard of 'conspicuous consumption?' We are not robber barons. There's no need to . . . I don't know . . . walk around town in a different Dior outfit every day for a month and say to various people 'I can't see how anyone can wear these things more than once. I just pull it off and toss it in the trash!'"

"I neither said nor did that!"

"You said and did that in front of Cyrus and I. You dumped a perfectly fine silk dress into a wastebasket as you ranted to Hoffman abut window dressings and flower arrangements." Chris paused a moment, furrowing his brows as he tried to size her up. "There's more to life than the accumulation and presentation of possessions, Angélique."

"I know this," she hissed. "And why do you assume that I want this money for myself? Why should Daniel do without?"

"You spoil Daniel. The boy could do without for a change; it might get rid of that attitude."

Angélique sat back, flabbergasted by this words. She had never seen Mr. Collins as a man of emotion or opinion. He was proving to be somewhat different than she had imagined. "Where have you been hiding this hostility, Chris. I never believed you hated me this much."

"Why is it so strange that I don't like the behaviors you drag out in this family?" asked Chris indignantly. "You bully others in not so subtle ways and you act as if you're above everyone. You're not."

"But I . . . "

"But what? You can't convince me that you're not a spoiled brat."

"But that's not all that irks you, is it?" Angélique rose from her seat and thrust her face into Chris's, forcing the man to fall back into his seat. "You hate that I get away with it. I say something and everyone jumps. In my less than savory moments, no one is willing to control me. Quentin doesn't bother; he wouldn't dare. I can do whatever I want, take whomever I choose . . ."

"And it's disgusting to watch them follow after you. I've never seen so many men debase themselves to spend one night with a women as sordid as you. I'd almost assume that they're wasting their time until I remember who you squire with: Bruno, cousin Roger, Dameon Edwards, and the rest of the cast of uninteresting thousands. I'm not sure who's more pathetic, them or you."

"But you secretly wish you were one of them, don't you?"

"I'd sooner blind myself than climb into your bed," he snarled.

"Well, when the time comes, I'll be sure to buy you a designer cane!"

"Go ahead," said Chris with a smirk. "You'll be using that cane long before I resign myself to sleep with you."

Angélique was stunned. No man had ever turned her down before. She didn't know how to react. "I guess that makes me wrong about you." Angélique fell back into her chair and laughed. How could she have been so naive as to think that Chris would fall over her like the rest. Of course, she hadn't even tried to seduce him; his negativity thwarted her the moment she stepped into the room. "Why aren't you like the rest of them?"

"Why should I be?" Chris brought his fingers to his temples, shutting his eyes tight to what stood before him. "I'm not going to increase your allowance," he finally said. "We're all living a little less large than we lived a year ago. There's no reason for you to be any different."

"But . . . "

"No! Please leave, Angélique, before I get angry."

Angélique stared at him a moment more before leaving the room. It wasn't hard for her to see his barely restrained hatred for her emanating from his body. How could this be? Everyone else was so taken with her beauty and charm. How did he manage to slip from her grasp?

Angélique stormed from the room, barely taking notice as Elizabeth escorted Cyrus Longworth into the foyer. They both stared at her as she stormed into the drawing room. Julia Hoffman scurried to the double doors and said, "You'll have to forgive her. She has been somewhat ill all morning." She shut the doors and made her way toward the bar. She fixed a sherry and gave it to Angélique, who sat stiffly by the fireplace. She allowed her mistress to take a sip before asking, "Mrs. Collins, what is wrong?"

"I . . . I mean . . . i . . . it is so ha . . . hard for me to live un. . . under this roof," she stuttered furiously. "Frugality is not my strong suit, as you well know Hoffman. This ridiculous allowance cap is stifling my creativity!"

"I understand," replied Hoffman. "They have spoiled you so well that you cannot live under these conditions. How did they expect you to react?"

"Who knows? They probably expected me to feel grateful that they had allowed me any excess cash at all." She gazed up at Hoffman and let out a stilted giggle, saying, "You're the only one who understands me, you know? The others just see me as the perfect woman, willing to give all for mutual pleasures. You know how deep my interests run. My love of beauty and elegance touches and inspires all it encounters. What I do for this house, I do for the family. I make their lives brighter by merely existing. Their needs are my needs; their desires are my own. You know how I hate to have my desires thwarted."

"And I take it that Chris Collins has ruined some plan of yours?" asked Hoffman.

"You know my desire for perfection," she said, "And you see how this house is decaying before our eyes? My will makes life more pleasant for all who live here. Oh! I can't believe he denied me!"

"Where is he now?"

"He should be in the study."

Angélique remained in the drawing room as Hoffman fled. She didn't know why the woman would bother. She knew that Hoffman wouldn't be able to talk the family lawyer into giving her the money. If she couldn't sway him, what chance did Hoffman have? A minute later, Hoffman zoomed back into the room. "He's not there."

"Well, he must have stepped out."

"With who?"

"Does it matter?" asked Angélique impatiently. "It's not as if he'd give me what I want."

"What if you were able to prove your power to him?"

"Are you suggesting I . . . bewitch him?"

"I'm not. I'm just suggesting that you could use your powers within the social world. Do you have anything on him?"

"Chris Collins is cursedly free of scandal," explained Angélique. "Besides, I wouldn't know where to look."

"Then I suggest you begin to use those powers now."

Hoffman left the drawing room again, leaving Angélique to stare at the doors wondering what she had meant. She gazed back into the fire and felt its power envelop her, filling her to the brim with a powerful sense of self and purpose. She turned toward the flames, and, with a voice soaked in the tones of ecstasy, said, "My oldest source of power, I come to you now in a time of need. Show me the face of my enemy as it is now. Show me where Chris Collins hides!"

The flames retreated, leaving Angélique with a view of the blackened fireplace. Slowly, a mist began to circle in the back, and upon its gathering, an image formed within its confines. The room she saw within the mist was brightly furnished and filled with the warm glow of sunshine. She knew this room to be one of the ones she had decorated in the West Wing. As her eyes grew used to that one setting, the angle of view changed, shifting suddenly to the right. She focused her will onto the blurred images along the wall. The moment these images came into view her eyes bulged wide. "Oh God," she whispered. "I hadn't even guessed."

**Collinwood - A bedroom in the West Wing**

Chris Collins fell back against the pillow. He was exhausted, his body covered in a layer of sweat and aching in places that hadn't hurt in years. He flipped onto his side and stared ahead at the hideous yellow wallpaper that faced him. Had his mind not been spinning, he would have dwelt on it, mentally chastising Angélique's poor taste or trying to imagine a world where Quentin hadn't ruined all their lives by marrying her. All attempts at rational thought ended once he felt an arm sling across his side. Lips crept between his shoulder blades and planted a kiss between them. Chris turned to meet that mouth, pressing himself against the body as his tongue slipped between parted lips, tasting him as he had just moments before. When the kiss relaxed, Chris took him into his arms, allowing his head to drift onto his shoulder as he mumbled something that Chris could not understand. "What?"

Cyrus pulled back and his eyes drifted towards those of his lover. "I said you've become quite daring in your old age."

"You're the one to say, right?" Chris kissed him again. Upon pulling back, he noticed that the inquisitive look had not left Cyrus's face. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, I've never known you to ask your lover to come to Collinwood for a tryst. What if someone found us?"

"No one has."

"But it's a possibility. I gave Elizabeth some glib explanation as to why I was there. And what about Angélique? What could I have told her had she not been in such a mood?"

"What would it matter?" asked Chris. "Angélique is the last person who can judge a relationship. She's had so many affairs that she's lost her right to be critical. Besides, I thought you'd please."

"I am," answered Cyrus with a smile. "We've been together for so long and this is one of the first times that you've called me over."

"I know. I'm sorry, but..."

"I know or I think I do."

"I'm not ashamed," said Chris defiantly.

"I never said you were." Cyrus slipped behind Chris and slowly began to knead his shoulders. Chris relaxed inside his touch. "I wasn't going to mention shame. I don't think of you as an emotional person. I see you with Amy and I think the same thing. I know you love her but I can't see it within your interactions with the girl."

"I don't know how to act with her. It was so much easier when she was a kid," lamented Chris. "It's easier to send her back to New York to live with our brother. He has children and knows how to react to them. I, on the other hand, don't know the first thing about preadolescent girls."

"No one understands preadolescent. Well, at least they believe that to be so." Cyrus wrapped his arms around Chris's shoulders and kissed his cheek. "Let's forget about that."

"Fine. What do you suggest we move on to?"

"I have a few ides I'd like to discuss with you. Don't give me that look! It'll only be . . . "

"Not your work, Cyrus," moaned Chris. "You know I don't get your work! Think of something we could both enjoy."

"Oh," said Cyrus, slightly disappointed. "Well then, I have some non-work related things to discuss."

"About us?"

"Bingo."

"Talk?"

"No talk," answered Cyrus as his mouth moved towards Chris's. "Absolutely no talk."

**Collinwood - The Drawing Room**

Angélique smiled as she watched the mist dissipate and the fire creep back to its original fervor. Julia Hoffman slipped back into the drawing room, her face exposing her curiosity before she had a chance to speak. "I may have a plan," she told Hoffman. "I'm on the verge of something big."

"Really? So soon?" inquired Hoffman. She inched closer to her mistress, desperate to know what she had learned. "What did you see?"

"Later, Hoffman. Right now, I need to you to go to my room and retrieve my address book. There's someone I must get in touch with."

"Who, if I may be so bold to ask?" inquired Hoffman.

"Later!" she reiterated. Angélique watched Julia Hoffman scurry out of the drawing room and up the stairs to fetch the object of her desire. She giggled softly as she turned back towards the fireplace. "Have your fun now," she hissed. "It well all be ending soon. Fear, Chris Collins, because you _will_ learn who rules this family!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: Bitter Pills**

**Part: 2a of 3**

**Genre: Drama, Slash (m/m), some m/f**

**Characters: Angélique Collins, Chris Collins, Cyrus Longworth, Julia Hoffman, Schyuler Rumson, Sabrina Stuart, and Elizabeth Collins Stoddard**

**1968PT**

**Drummond University - Next Day**

Angélique groaned as she walked the sterile white halls toward the office of Professor Schyuler Rumson. She abhorred renewing her ties with this old acquaintance, but she knew that it had to be done for her plan to work. Sky, as he insisted everyone call him, had been a family friend. He, like any red-blooded male in his twenties, found the beautiful Stokes twins too delectable to resist. He had no qualms about sharing his desires verbally with the then 15-year-old Angélique. For her part, Angélique hated him on sight, and his lurid vulgarities made him seem more unappealing. But Alexis's admission of puppy love spurred her to make Rumson one of her teenaged conquests. Their mingling was never much to her liking but she kept it up just to see the devastated look on her sister's face. Pride, it seemed, would always fall casualty to Angélique's need for dominance. Even she recognized this, especially when in bed with Schyuler Rumson. When they finally separated — she heading to Collinwood and he to a thankless job into the faculty of Drummond University — she made sure to keep in peripheral touch, innately knowing that this contact may one day prove useful.

Angélique maneuvered past the secretary into a spacious if sparsely decorated office. Professor Rumson rose to his feet the moment he saw her. She shivered at the sight of him. A little over ten years ago, Sky had been an attractive, if somewhat dim, man; a decade later, he looked like a track star gone to pot. His once pliable limbs had gone soft under a layer of fat, much of which had accumulated in his midsection and chest. His face held something of his former glory, but his hair, at its current rate, seemed doomed to extinction. His hairline had already ceded an inch and a half of space to his forehead. The hair that remained was dominated by gray. Even his hands had withered, looking haggard and grainy as they hung worthlessly at his sides. He was 41. Sky's fall from physical perfection was inevitable but it sickened her nonetheless. _Had I remained in his life, he would have been up at dawn jogging and performing calisthenics she thought as she extended her hand in greeting._ "It has been a long time."

Sky took her hand and pulled her to him, releasing upon her a friendly - possibly too friendly - hug. Angélique held her breath as she silently prayed (not to God, Satan, or any of the available pagan deities, but to the god of good sense), hoping that Sky would liberate her before she was forced to injure him. In good time, he let her go, and, with a boyish grin marring his features, asked, "To what do I owe this honor?"

"Good fortune and newly discovered opportunities." Angélique sank down into the pealing leather seat in front of his desk, leaning back into its deceptive comfort as she watched Sky for a response. His pupils dilated as his gaze blatantly caressed the lines of her body. She couldn't help but smile. After the previous day's fiasco, she wanted a man, albeit one she despised, to admire her, quietly admitting that he would do almost anything to possess her. She allowed Sky to sit before acknowledging her purpose. "I have a favor to ask you."

"Anything," he gasped. "It's yours."

Now, this really is more like it. She leaned forward, asking, "Is there any way for you to arrange for one of your graduate students to work outside the school as an assistant?"

"Do you need an assistant?"

"Oh god no! I thought you knew me better than that." Angélique unleashed her most girlish laugh and leaned forward. The first two buttons of her blouse were unfastened, allowing Sky to peak inside and stare at her breasts. Her smile widened when she saw that the could not resist taking a peak"I have a good friend, a doctor with an intense love of chemistry. He works out of his home. I would feel more comfortable if he had someone to assist him in his studies. What if something were to go wrong and he found himself unable to call for help? Someone must look out for him?"

Angélique noticed that Sky began to pale as she described her situation. She knew that he believed Cyrus to be her lover. It was, to anyone who knew the two of them, a ridiculous assumption, but one she knew Sky would assume. However, Angélique didn't believe it would effect his decision. She knew that Sky Rumson would act as she willed him. "So," he finally said, "you'd like me to set your friend up with some young man to . . . "

"No! Are there no women — girls? — enrolled in your program?"

"Not one I can part with," replied Sky. His face had already brightened when he realized his impressions had been wrong. His countenance brightened further with a sudden awakening. "I had a young woman graduate last spring. She has her Masters degree but seems to be having a difficult time getting a job."

"Well," said Angélique with a smile, "she may have found her lucky break. Do you have contact information for the poor soul?"

Sky motioned for his secretary. She came in carrying a manila folder. Sky took it from her and leafed through the pages until he found what he sought. He reached for the telephone but a sharp look from Angélique led him to redraw his hand. "I take it you'd like to call her yourself?" She nodded. He retrieved a pad and pencil and recorded the necessary information before handing it off to Angélique. "Will this be enough?"

"It'll be plenty, Sky. Thank you." Angélique folded the paper delicately before slipping it into her purse. She rose from her seat and headed towards the door. Unfortunately, she felt a hand reach out and grab hold of her arm. She looked back to see Sky, his face crunched in earnest yearning. "What is it?"

"It . . . it's been awhile since we've spoken," he explained. "I've got so many questions to ask you."

"Well dear, they really must wait for another time."

"They can't! I . . . "

"'I' what?" Angélique giggled lightly as she removed Sky's hand from her arm. She reached up and kissed his cheek gently before saying, "You've done me a great favor, one that I will gladly repay at another date. Today, I have important things to do. You understand, don't you?" He sighed but nodded. "Good! Then I'll call you when all this is settled."

Angélique strode out of his office without looking back. She maintained her giggling facade all the way down the hall, smiling and greeting everyone she met. It was only when she was alone within the confines of the elevator did the image crumble. She wiped her hand angrily across her lips, only slightly convinced that this would remove Sky's taint. "Greasy bastard," she muttered. "He'll never touch me again!" She felt so dirty in his presence. His unabashed yearning for her sucked all the air from the room, leaving Angélique feeling empty and bitter. Seeing him again had been a mistake. Yet the thought of the paper within her purse returned the smile to her face. Phase one of her revenge had gone as planned. Now, she had a very important call to make when she returned to Collinwood.

**Cyrus's House - Same Day**

Chris stood across from Cyrus in his kitchen. In his hand, he held the remains of a vodka sour. He held the glass tightly, so tightly that he had he put any more pressure on it, it would burst in his hand. He had so many questions to ask Cyrus, but he could only manage to vocalize one. "She's gotten you what?" he asked, his voice holding obvious amounts of aggravation.

"Angélique may have found me an assistant," explained Cyrus. In spite of Chris's apprehensions, he could barely contain his excitement. "She has an old friend in the Chemistry Department at Drummond University. He knew of a recent graduate who needs employment. Angélique thought of me and my situation and retrieved the number from her friend. She's made the call to this recent graduate, who seemed very eager at the prospect of actually having a job, be it as a lowly assistant."

"Why didn't you call this person?"

"Angélique wants to check it out first, to make sure that this person is up to her standards."

Chris tried not to laugh but a few snickers managed to sneak through. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Angélique Collins couldn't give a favor without something else in mind. "Her standards? What are her scientific standards? She couldn't complete 6 weeks of college. In what time has she accumulated these overwhelmingly high standards?"

"Really Chris? This isn't adult behavior," complained Cyrus. "College isn't for everyone. Angélique got what she wanted from school and moved on."

"True. A MRS degree doesn't require too many credit hours, does it?"

"Don't be crass. Must you spoil everything? Cyrus snorted and turned away. He began rustling through a stack of papers and eventually pulled out a torn sheet. "'Sabrina Stuart - 24 - Masters degree - single - number 555-6 . . . '" he read in a slight monotone. "Is that enough to convince you that she might exist? It's true that I've never met her, but I, as I always insist, would like to put faith in someone when they say that they have my best interest at heart. Do you understand?" Chris nodded. Cyrus smiled, saying, "Good! I'm glad we're through with that because there are so many things I have to discuss with you. I want your opinion, so please be honest . . . "

Chris smiled. Of course, he wasn't listening to a word Cyrus said. He knew very well what he was talking about — science, chemistry, grimoires, good and evil, and other various and sundry things that didn't interest him. Most of those things were abstracts to Chris. They were unknowable and he found little use in trying to wrap his mind around them. The others were bits of arcana, and Chris couldn't understand why Cyrus found them so interesting. What business had he worrying with alchemy when chemistry had long ago taken its place? What could a legitimate scientist learn from voodoo?

Beyond that, Chris had other things he'd rather dwell on, such as Angélique's motives with Cyrus. Why was she finding him an assistant at this time? Could it just be a coincidence that she was doing this the day after Chris had argued with her? It had to be. No one knew about his relationship with Cyrus. At least, no one knew for sure. He was certain that his immediate family suspected an affair, but, then again, that was why he so rarely returned to New York. He couldn't have them asking questions that he wasn't ready to answer. He realized the oddness of his predicament. He had been with Cyrus for over a decade. He should be comfortable with people knowing about it.

Everyone at Collinwood seemed as clueless as he felt they needed to be. The only one who would dare pry into his personal life was Angélique. He knew that he was now on her hit list and, for that reason alone, he needed to be on guard. _She could know_, he told himself grimly.

"Chris?"

"What?" he asked wildly.

"Um, I was wondering if you'd like to go out to dinner or stay in?"

"Out."

Cyrus nodded. He wrapped his arms around Chris and laid his head on his shoulder. "Out in space again?"

"Nope."

"So you were listening to everything I had said earlier?"

"Of course," he replied.

Cyrus pulled away from him, crossing his arms across his chest as he leaned on the kitchen counter for support. "What was I talking about?"

"Well . . . science . . . chemicals . . . scientific theory . . . dinner?" Chris could see from the look on Cyrus's face that he was wrong. "Listen," he said, inching his way closer to his lover, "I've had a lot on my mind recently. I didn't mean to ignore you. I'll do better at dinner . . . I promise."

The look on Cyrus's face said that he believed otherwise. Despite it, Cyrus forced a slight grin to his lips. "I'll call and make reservations at _Rachaela's_, okay?"

"Sure," murmured Chris. He had screwed up. He only wanted to know how he could make it up.

**Downstairs Collinwood - That Night**

She hated living in the house when the master was not home. She always had.

Elizabeth Collins Stoddard didn't so much yearn for the stability that the patriarch supposedly provided his household. She knew enough of the family history to know that stability wasn't a heralded Collins trait. Instead, she wanted the fear that the patriarch inspired in his underlings to return with a smooth and vicious vengeance. Her father, the prudishly earnest Jamison Collins, could silence the house by entering it, sending the gossipmongers and radical schemers underground. Although she hated him in her youth (and it was foolish thinking to believe that she'd ever stop hating him), she couldn't help but quietly respect his yearning for propriety and solitude. Quentin, she long ago realized, wasn't at all like her father, but his presence within the house would have put the plottings of his wife back into her room and out of the common areas.

Elizabeth could barely contain her hatred of Angélique. The mistress of Collinwood brought out the worst in everyone she encountered. She awakened fury in her husband, vapidity in her son, snobbery in her maid, sarcastic wonder in Roger, and the unending envy in practically everyone else. It was this aspect of her that Elizabeth hated the most. Angélique Collins had sketchy morals, poor personal taste, and the general temperament of a bitch in heat, but one couldn't help but admire her ability to squeak out of any rough situation unscathed.

She hated ruminating on her dislike for Angélique, but she found she couldn't help herself. As she walked down the stairs, Elizabeth was assaulted by the sound of that infamous voice creeping through the hastily shut drawing room doors. Good sense almost sent Elizabeth back upstairs to her room, but curiosity forced her downstairs and into the safety of the office. Elizabeth left the door slightly cracked. Angélique would never know and her voice carried far enough to be heard in the distant room.

"What did you think of her, Hoffman?" asked Angélique, her voice tinged with mirth.

"Honestly? Well, I found Miss Stuart to be plain but pretty, smart but slow, and . . . quaintly shy."

"Well put! 'Quaintly shy' indeed. Now do you think she'd be good for Cyrus?"

"She would be his equal in meekness." Elizabeth heard Julia Hoffman pause a moment before asking, "Why would you try to match Miss Stuart with Cyrus Longworth?"

"I think she is an adequate replacement of his current lover."

"And who - if I may be so bold to ask - is his current lover?"

"Why . . . it is Chris Collins."

There was a thirty second pause in the conversation allowing Elizabeth ran the revelation through her mind until it lost its shock value. But could it be true? She knew that Chris and Cyrus had been close for many years. It was a possibility. At the same time, she knew it wasn't any of her business. This was an obvious secret that had been discovered through duplicity. Elizabeth felt ashamed that she had learned it from equally dubious methods. It almost brought her to the level of Angélique, a conclusion that made her sick to her stomach.

The silence broke with Julia Hoffman's surprised laughter. "My god, Angélique! How did you get this information?"

"I took your advice, Hoffman, and used my natural talents to ferret it out," answered Angélique. "Let me tell you what I saw."

Elizabeth listened to the whole story, aghast that Angélique had been so brazen to uncover this information and use it to her benefit. It had been years since she had witnessed Angélique behave in such a manner. Chris Collins had obviously moved in on the wrong side of this woman and would soon pay a price for doing so. Someone had to warn him before it was too late.

**Cyrus's house - 2 days later**

Cyrus rushed around his house to make sure that all his things were in their perfect place. Miss Sabrina Stuart would be arriving at any moment and he wanted to make a good first impression. He had been a ball of nervous energy for the last two days and it had only intensified throughout the morning. Would he like her? Would she like him? Was she right for the job? There were so many delicious possibilities to consider. It was both frightening and exhilarating. He couldn't understand why Chris couldn't share this with him.

In a sense, Cyrus knew the reasons for Chris's trepidation. He had been groomed from the age of 12 to represent his family in New York to the other Collinses in Collinsport. No one could have expected Jamison Collins to take a liking to him and further groom him to replace Arden Handley as Collins family lawyer. But he did and so after he turned 19, Chris was taken into the fold of the Maine branch of the Collins family. He was aware of all family situations before many older, more distinguished members knew that such issues existed. He had learned to be cautiously pessimistic about all new arrivals until they proved worth the effort.

Besides, anything to do with Angélique was immediately suspect to Chris. Cyrus had been there the night Chris received the call about her marriage to Quentin. He had said kind things to whomever had called, but his demeanor became agitated and angry the moment he replaced the receiver. "Do you think the marriage will last?" Cyrus had asked.

"Who knows?" he had replied bitterly. "No two shot-gun marriages are alike." Six months later after the wedding, Daniel was born. Cyrus knew that the birth confirmed Chris's suspicions about Angélique. To him, she would always be a conniving bitch who would use anything in her arsenal to get her way.

Cyrus, however, couldn't see her that way. He respected her marvelous way with people, loving how she coaxed strangers out of their holes and talked with them for hours on any subject that amused them both. She had an eccentric and daring sense of style and never failed to set the standard for trendsetters when she entered an area. Of course, she had obviously made a few mistakes in her life, but she seemed able to brush them aside and move on. Cyrus thought her to be a remarkable woman. When she offered her assistance in procuring him an assistant, he thanked her sincerely. Few people had been so kind to him. Furthermore, he saw no reason to turn down assistance from anyone, especially when he had not asked for it. Cyrus refused to allow Chris to dictate from whom he would receive gifts.

Cyrus didn't want to dwell on those things. Chris and Angélique would probably be battling until they were old and gray. He couldn't concern himself with their petty squabbles. It didn't thrill him in the way his work managed to do. His work often seemed like a secret lover, a demanding mistress whom he had problems turning away from. He often wanted to turn away from the chaos of life and bury himself in his work. But Cyrus wasn't so blind to life that he couldn't see the damage his obsessions caused. He had worked so long by himself that he found himself virtually friendless within his field. Chris was unapologetic in his lack of interest in Cyrus's chosen obsession. So, he needed someone to share his belief. He needed to share this secret love with another.

Suddenly, Cyrus heard a knock at the front door. It had to be Miss Stuart. He gave a quick glance into the mirror, stopping momentarily to straighten his tie, before walking to the door. He paused a moment, released a deeply held breath, and opened the door. On first seeing her, he paused but quickly moved again, smiling as he asked, "Sabrina Stuart, I presume?"

"Yes . . . Dr. Longworth?"

"Oh yes. Please come in." Cyrus stepped out of her way, allowing Miss Stuart to sheepishly creep inside. "Would you like anything to eat, drink . . . "

"No thank you, Dr. Longworth."

"Please, call me Cyrus."

Cyrus couldn't quite explain it, but he found Miss Stuart enchanting. The best word he thought of to describe her was impish. Her thick, dark hair was cut short and perfectly framed her pale face. Her dark eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. She was trim and conservatively dressed in a turtleneck sweater and brown slacks. She wasn't ostentatiously attractive but he found her appealing.

Of course, Cyrus thought nearly everyone was attractive. He could find something exciting about everyone, be it the society mavens who attempted to curry favor with the Collins family, the lovely teenaged tutors for Amy, or their aloof boyfriends who tagged along just in case the lesson ended early. Cyrus was drawn to them all but is wasn't the same as his attraction to Sabrina. Nor, for that matter, was it the same as his attraction to Chris. He had met Chris at the wedding of Evie Austen, a close family friend. The bridegroom had been Chris's twin brother, Tom. For Cyrus, it had been love at first sight. And the relationship had been so shining in its infancy. Chris had always been stubborn, but he seemed more willing to go the extra mile to be understanding during the early years. It had been a time of sharing, learning, and passion. But Chris turned colder during the last few years. Cyrus tried to understand but found himself pushed away at every juncture. Their relationship had been, for the most part, exhilarating, but now it was a struggle for Cyrus to understand why he stuck around, He needed someone more attentive. He needed someone to understand him.

Cyrus led Miss Stuart into his parlor, motioning for her to take a seat on the plush green couch. He sat opposite her in a high backed chair and watched each small move she made. She was somewhat dainty and delicate with her legs crossed at the ankles and her hands folded in her lap. Dare he think it - was she well bred? "Tell me, Miss Stuart, why did you choose . . .?"

"Such an unfeminine profession as chemistry?" she asked sheepishly.

'Well, no, I . . . "

"Don't worry. That's what I'm always asked. My mother comes from a wealthy family," she explained. "I would always get questions like that when I would visit my family during the holidays. I couldn't explain to them that one of the most famous chemists of the century was a woman or that the field was one with endless opportunities and horizons. They couldn't understand why I didn't study something _safe _like English or Art. I . . . I think a chemist can change the world for the better. Science will take us to places we've never been before. I like to think that I'll one day effect the future in a positive, healthy way."

Cyrus smiled. He had never heard his views spoken so succinctly. "I couldn't agree with you more. I too want to better humanity through my work. One can't siphon off the world that helped create you forever. You must give back."

"Yes! I would feel privileged to help you work . . . that is, if I'm hired."

"Well, of course you are, of course. We must talk about this more . . . over dinner."

Miss Stuart jumped off the couch and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Oh thank you, Dr. Longworth! You won't regret this."

"I'm sure I won't," he said, sounding somewhat shocked at her display of affection. "But please, call me Cyrus from now on. And please, accept my offer of dinner tonight. I can discuss with you what I will be expecting from an assistant and we can get to know one another better."

"Excellent!" Miss Stuart let go his neck and stood up. "And please, call me Sabrina."

Cyrus grinned as he looked at her, privately enjoying the faint blush that was painted across her cheeks. A voice in the back of his head attempted to remind him of other plans, but Cyrus ignored it. He had made his decision.


End file.
